


Fighting Talk

by EmilyMoony



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bahorel is an awesome friend, But Only a Little Bit - Freeform, Fights, Friendship, Gen, Humor, I think that's about it, Minor Injuries, Swearing, cinnamon challenge, okay that's definitely it, ooh wait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyMoony/pseuds/EmilyMoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius gets himself beaten up, Bahorel teaches him how to fight, and somehow Combeferre ends up doing the cinnamon challenge.<br/>Pretty much a normal day in the life of Les Amis de l'ABC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighting Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Here goes!  
> This isn't the first fanfiction that I've ever written, but it's the first I've ever posted. I'll love you forever if you read this!;)  
> Thanks goes to my Mizzie friends- Hannah 'Fee' (19 DAYS MORE! Or at least it was 19 days more when I wrote this), Cassandra, who forced me to post this, and lastly the Bossuet to my Joly, Mei.  
> Enjoy!

It was one of those rare times in the life of Combeferre that he actually found himself with a few spare hours. He’d been working hard to get this spare time for a week- he’d done all of his college assignments the day they’d been set, and hadn’t procrastinated one bit (not that he was usually too bad- but usually only Enjolras did everything straight away)- so of course, he was spending it doing one of the least enjoyable activities imaginable: aimlessly scrolling through his Facebook news feed. He was just losing the will to live whilst he read yet another post from Amber, one of his slightly more angsty high school classmates (‘omg i can’t beleive i trusted you! never again!’ followed by a comment of ‘what’s up?’ and a reply of, ‘dont wanna talk about it soz’), when he saw his phone screen lighting up from the corner of his eye.  
From: Bahorel, 16:46  
Hheeeyyy combfefrer, i got thisd stiuipd assdignment can i come over to yourrrss pleeeeeassse

Combeferre was surprised that his eyebrows hadn’t hit the roof- Bahorel doing an assignment? The world is upside-down- but he figured that he shouldn’t complain, as it would most likely do the part-time law student some good in the long run if he did some work for a change, so who was Combeferre to deny help? He sent back a quick affirmative reply, wondering vaguely what had made Bahorel actually did some college work. Deciding that reading one more Facebook post from Amber would most likely drive him insane, he turned off his laptop and switched on the news, which, although it wasn’t particularly exciting at this point, at least made him feel less like his IQ points were disappearing by the second. According to the clock in the bottom-right-hand corner of the television screen, it was eleven minutes before there came a knock at his door. Surprised that Bahorel had come so quickly, yet still assuming that it was the fighter at his door, Combeferre called for him to come in. A few moments passed, but the door didn’t open. Maybe it was locked after all. Frowning slightly, he stood up and made his way over to the front door.

The sight which greeted him on his doorstep was most definitely not Bahorel. Before Combeferre stood Marius Pontmercy, shaking like a leaf, with blood running rather grotesquely from his nose. He held his left hand up to his face to try and stop some of the blood, but his shirt still looked like a costume from a horror movie. His other hand was cradled against his chest, his entire thumb visibly swollen even from a distance. Tears were making their way down his face in thin tracks, and Combeferre reached straight out to pull him into a wordless hug. Combeferre pulled back immediately as he heard Marius make a small, pained grunt of protest. Apologising, Combeferre opened the door to let the injured Marius in. He’d just turned around to get a towel to try and do something about the ridiculous amount of blood dripping from Marius’ nose, when he heard a quiet mumble of, “I can’t...” from Marius. Feeling his stomach drop with pity for his friend, he took the arm that had been holding across his chest, and, being careful not to touch Marius’ hand, guided his arm around his own shoulders and helped Marius limp into the apartment.

Once he’d sat Marius down on the couch (which took a painfully long time, as Marius really couldn’t do anything with his right leg except drag it along uselessly behind him), he went straight to the bathroom and found the oldest towel he could, and handed it to Marius, who gratefully held it to his nose.  
“I’m going to take a look at your ankle first, okay?” Combeferre asked softly. He saw Marius nod nervously, and so proceeded to roll up Marius’ trouser leg slightly. He apologised again when he heard Marius take a sharp intake of breath, and as soon as he looked down at Marius’ ankle he saw why he was in so much pain. His entire ankle was an angry shade of red, and wasn’t far off of twice the size it was meant to be.  
“Oh, Marius,” he muttered sympathetically, looking up to see that Marius was focused intently on the wall to his left, determined not to look down at his leg. He began prodding it, which, no matter how gently he did so, constantly elicited hisses of pain from Marius.  
“Sprained, definitely. I don’t think it’s broken, though,” he declared after he’d examined it sufficiently. Marius nodded, trying to take some relief in that fact. Combeferre stood up from where he’d been kneeling by the couch, and grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom.  
“Alright, I’m going to wrap it up for you, and then I’ll get you an ice pack,” he told Marius, who was still silent. Frowning, he reached out a hand to stroke Marius’ hair softly, taking note of how his eyes seemed glassy and unfocused. With a sigh, Combeferre knelt down again, bandage in hand and began to wrap up Marius’ ankle.

“How did this happen, anyway, Marius?” he asked. Marius took a moment, before answering,  
“Fight.”  
“You’re not usually the fighting type, what were you fighting over?” Combeferre continued, genuinely surprised that Marius had been in a brawl.  
Another pause, “Guy wanted my money.”  
“You got mugged? If you got mugged, you’ll have to go to the police, this is serious.” Marius shrugged and didn’t reply.  
“’M tired,” Marius mumbled, stifling a yawn. His nose seemed to have stopped bleeding- for now, at least.  
“Don’t go to sleep yet, okay?” Combeferre told him. Marius nodded, bringing his hand up to rub at his eyes, but wincing as it brushed against his nose due to his tired lack of coordination. Finished with the bandages, Combeferre retrieved an ice pack from the freezer and wrapped it around Marius’ ankle.  
“’S cold,” he complained.  
“I know, sorry. You can sit up now if you like, I’m going to take a look at your hand.” Marius sat up, groaning when the movement made blood begin to run from his nose again. Combeferre gave him a sympathetic smile, before taking hold of Marius’ right hand, of which the thumb was purple and swollen dramatically, and one of his fingers didn’t look too good either. He touched the thumb gently, which caused Marius to make a noise that could only be described as a pained whimper, and was just about to declare it most definitely broken when there was a heavy knock at the door.

He’d totally forgotten Bahorel was coming over.  
“Evening,” Bahorel grinned as Combeferre opened the door.  
“Hey. Sorry, about the assignment- just after you texted, Marius showed up. He’s been in a fight, and-” Combeferre began, but was cut off.  
“Marius has been in a fight? Our little puppy is coming of age! I must congratulate him!” Bahorel exclaimed, eyes wide and grin wider. He pushed his was past Combeferre, who was stuck halfway between laughing at Bahorel’s excitement to get the story about how Marius got into a fight, and worrying severely for Marius’ safety at the hands of Bahorel. He smiled to himself as he shut the door.

“Shit, it looks more like you’ve been beaten up that been in a fight,” Bahorel let out a low whistle as he caught sight of Marius, who had his eyes closed, his head lolling slightly on his shoulder.  
“No sleeping,” Combeferre reminded him, met with a grimace from Marius. Bahorel flopped himself down on the spare couch, whilst Combeferre started tending to Marius’ hand.  
“Broken thumb?” Bahorel grunted after a while, met with a nod from both Marius and Combeferre. “Nobody ever told you not to put your thumb inside your fist?” Marius shook his head, saying quietly,  
“Am I not meant to?” Bahorel looked scandalised.  
“Has nobody ever taught you how to fight?” he asked, shock and disbelief evident in his face. Marius shook his head, with a confused look on his face.  
“I didn’t think it mattered,” he confessed. If it was possible, Bahorel’s eyes got even wider, and he sat bolt upright.  
“I must teach you,” he declared, grinning maniacally. At this, Combeferre let out a soft laugh- each time someone new joined their group, they would, at some point receive the notorious ‘fight talk’ from Bahorel. Combeferre had had his own after one of their countless protests-turned-riots- although Combeferre never actually planned on getting physical with anyone, according to Bahorel it was ‘absolutely necessary that he knows exactly how to defend himself’, which led to half an hour of being lectured on the art of fighting. Honestly, if Marius knew what he was getting into, he would’ve stood up and run a mile, sprained ankle forgotten.

“And the final, probably the most important rule about fighting, is never let yourself get pushed onto the ground. If you’re on the ground, you’re dead meat. Do anything it takes to stay on your feet. Find yourself on the ground, and you opponent can do whatever he wants to you. Remember what I told you about posture?” Bahorel waited for a small nod from a rather bemused-looking Marius, “That can totally save you. Don’t put more weight on one foot than the other, feet shoulder width apart, left foot in front. Oh, and never aim a kick above their knees. Got it?” Marius nodded again, having stayed pretty much silent as Bahorel lectured him, sports-coach style, for the past twenty or so minutes.  
“Quiz time!” he then cheerfully announced. Combeferre couldn’t supress a small smile as he heard Marius sigh slightly, rolling his eyes. As painful as Bahorel’s fighting lecture was, it seemed to have cheered Marius up a little.

“Wait- we can do a competition. ‘Ferre, I hope you’ve been listening, ‘cause the loser has to a forfeit in the form of the cinnamon challenge,” Bahorel decided. “Okay, first question is for five points. What’s the most effective way to disorientate your opponent?”  
“Nose- punch them in the nose!” Marius exclaimed, looking rather pleased with himself.  
“Excellent. You’re doing better than Joly already. Five to Marius, zero to Combeferre. How do you stand when you’re in a fight?”  
“Uh- right foot in front of- no, wait- yeah, right foot in front of your left,” Marius said uncertainly.  
“Wrong! Combeferre?”  
Rolling his eyes with a smile, Combeferre answered, “Left in front of right. Unless you’re left handed.”  
“Excellent. Five each. This one’s for ten points- How do you get out of most arm locks?”  
Combeferre looked over at Marius, who was deep in thought, and beginning to look increasingly panicked that he didn’t know the answer.  
“Try to get your arms out?” Marius guessed.  
“Are you asking me, or telling me?” Bahorel demanded, raising an eyebrow.  
“Telling you?”  
“You’re wrong, anyway. Combeferre?”  
“Kick their shins, stand on their feet, distract them,” Combeferre recited. It was pretty much impossible to have sat through the fight talk as many times as he had and not know it off by heart.  
“Good. Fifteen to Combeferre, five to Marius. The next one’s the last question, worth ten points again. What are two pressure points?”  
“Eyes- and- and... Back of the neck!” answered Marius, the childish look of pride on his face really quite adorable.  
“Ooh- back of the neck, I like it. I’ll give a bonus five for that, so now it’s twenty to Marius, and fifteen to Combeferre. I’m hungry, so I’m going to steal ‘Ferre’s food now. Marius wins,” Bahorel announced, already in the kitchen- Combeferre rolled his eyes fondly at this. The grin plastered on Marius’ face suggested that Christmas must’ve come early, and Combeferre managed to disinfect the last of the grazes running up the side of Marius’ face without putting so much as a dent in his proud smile.

“Done, d’you want me to get Courfeyrac to come and pick you up?” Combeferre asked, throwing away his last wipe and wiping his hands down his front. Marius nodded, right before Bahorel marched in, declaring,  
“It’s cinnamon time, Combeferre.”

It’s just cinnamon, right? How bad can it be? Certainly not anywhere near as bad as the time that Bahorel made Courfeyrac streak down the corridor and out of his apartment block (consequently locking him out afterwards), or when Grantaire had ended up in a wine shop, wearing Éponine’s clothes and asking for three cartons of their best orange juice, all in Icelandic, thanks to google translate (they’d managed to get some good videos of that one)- in fact, as far as Bahorel’s forfeits go, this is most definitely getting off easy.

Five minutes and two tablespoons of cinnamon later, Combeferre found himself stuck at the kitchen sink, eyes streaming as he tried unsuccessfully to get that God awful cinnamon taste out of his mouth. He reached for the fridge, frantically looking for a drink, only to hear Bahorel’s hysterical laughter grow even louder.  
“I- may have... Hidden- some of- your drinks,” he managed out between gasps of laughter. Combeferre shot him what was intended to be a death glare, but it didn’t really have the intended effect as he was soon doubled over the sink again in a last attempt to remove the vile substance of cinnamon from his system. Once he was sure that he was finally done, he stood up and turned to the other two with the intention of telling them how ridiculously childish the whole forfeit thing was, before he caught Marius’ eye and joined in with their raucous laughter.  
Their laughter was just beginning to die down when Courfeyrac came knocking at the door. He knocked three times.  
“Combeferre?” Three more knocks. “Combeferre?” ‘Ferre was at the door now, but it was pretty much an unspoken law of their friendship that Combeferre would let Courfeyrac do the Sheldon Cooper-style three knocks. He heard the final three knocks, followed by, “Combeferre?”, before opening the door.  
“I have come to pick up my good friend and favourite clumsy idiot, Marius,” he said with a grin as he sauntered into Combeferre’s apartment. “Jesus Christ, what happened to you, Marius?” He stopped dead. Admittedly, Marius did look pretty bad- broken noses did have a tendency to bruise a lot, and the blood stains down his shirt deemed it most definitely past saving.  
“He got into a fist fight,” Bahorel told him. Courfeyrac nodded, and after a moment asked,  
“You got the fight talk from Bahorel, too, I’d assume?” In reply, Combeferre, Marius and Bahorel all laughed slightly, and Courfeyrac rolled his eyes fondly.

“I guess I should take you home, then,” he announced, looking to Combeferre for confirmation. When Combeferre nodded, he made his way over to Marius and pulled Marius’ uninjured arm across his shoulders and put his arm around Marius’ waist before pulling him to his feet slowly.  
“You okay?” Courfeyrac asked concernedly, having noticed the pinched look that had appeared on Marius’ face and the way that he was clinging onto Courfeyrac as though his life depended on it.  
“Don’t worry, you can have more painkillers in half an hour,” Combeferre reassured. Marius gave a pained smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Also, Courfeyrac, you’ll need to make sure he ices his ankle, nose, and hand once every one or two hours for the first few days. Other than that, just use painkillers, come and see me if anything happens- and he’s got a mild concussion, too, so just keep an eye on him in general. Got it?” Courfeyrac nodded slowly, looking bemused by the heap of instructions he’d just been given. “Don’t worry, you’ll both be fine, I’m sure,” Combeferre added on the end.

“And you,” Combeferre said to Bahorel once Courfeyrac and Marius had shut the door behind them. “I believe you needed help with an assignment?” Combeferre prompted, pulling up a chair from the dining table. Bahorel looked at him blankly for a moment, before recognition washed over his face and he shrugged his shoulders, saying,  
“Sod that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that wasn't too awful! Reviews are desired muchly. Thank you for reading, and congratulations for making it to the end of this twaddle (that is such a good word, oh my God).  
> (Also, Amber may or may not be a direct copy of one of my Facebook friends... I'd say that I'm worried she'll read this, but I don't think that her and reading are the most likely couple, so I should be okay.)  
> Feel welcome to visit me at my tumblr, grantairesgrandhair.tumblr.com, I'm very lonely!:)


End file.
